Whipped and Other One Shots
by justcallmefaye
Summary: Kataang series. Probably. Some fluff, some angst. [Ch. 8 Deja Vu] DARK!fic. This one's definitely rated T for violence. Aang falls out of the sky in the final battle, and Katara remembers when this happened once before. warning: violent!vengeful!Katara.
1. Whipped

Disclaimer: Avatar is NOT MINE!!! How many times do I have to remind you? Sheesh.

A/N: I wrote something short and lighthearted? Potentially even vaguely humorous? What is wrong with me?!?! Oh, and this is Sokka's POV. What, Sokka's POV? What IS wrong with me? Ha ha ha.

**Whipped**

Aang would say that it's their personalities and it can't be helped.

And I suppose the kid has a point. After all, he was born a peacemaker in more than one way. Not only is he the Avatar and responsible for restoring all peace throughout the entire world, but he's also the type to compromise instead of argue, back down instead of fight. He doesn't want conflict; personally, I think it makes him uncomfortable. He would prefer to be walked all over than risk upsetting someone.

Alright, that's not entirely truthful. He doesn't let people walk all over him. He's not _that_ passive. But still, he's a fairly passive guy who's content to let things flow. King Bumi put it best: avoid and evade, typical Airbender tactics. And, well, Aang _is_ a master Airbender.

Then there's the matter of my younger sister. Katara is anything but a born peacemaker; she is a born fighter, through and through, whether it's the Fire Nation or someone else's opinion that's her enemy. Would she back down when Pakku told her he wouldn't teach her? No, she convinced that man soon enough and was Waterbending in no time. Would she let Toph go about her own business and just set up camp herself? No, she badgered Toph until the breaking point and both of them had a delightful shouting match—and Aang, unsurprisingly, intervened to cool everyone down. She's stubborn and obstinate and opinionated, and by the spirits, she will hold her ground.

So I can see where Aang's coming from. His personality is rather unsuited to defeating hers. But across the campfire, I can see it happening again.

Aang stands up, looking hesitant and nervous, and clears his throat. We all look at him, even though Toph has no purpose pointing her blind eyes in his general direction.

"I'm leaving tomorrow," he announces, staring fixedly at the fire. "I have my Avatar duties to attend to, and I'm not going to drag you guys all over the world again. It'll boring and repetitive, and I'm sure you all have lives you want to return to. So…I'll be going alone."

"If you seriously think I'm going to let you, then I worry for your intelligence," Katara mutters, sending him a glare.

Toph shrugs. "Sounds fine with me. I have places to go, things to do, people to not see."

I shrug as well. "Suki's waiting for me on Kyoshi. I was planning on leaving anyway."

"I'm not going anywhere," Katara repeats firmly, folding her arms on her chest and looking ready for a fight. "I'm coming with you, and I don't care if it's boring and repetitive. I'm coming."

Aang predictably caves and says meekly, "Alright, Katara. If you really want to."

"I really want to." And she smiles at him, and I can see his cheeks flush and his knees go weak. If I could, I would exchange knowing glances with Toph.

Because no matter what he says, it's not a matter of their personalities.

No, Aang is simply whipped.

_Fin_


	2. Hair

Disclaimer: Okay, I hereby declare that for this chapter and all other ones that shall be posted as part of this collection...I do NOT own Avatar!! No!! Never!! Sad, I know, but it ain't gonna happen!!

A/N: I do believe this has become a series of unrelated one-shots. I would call them drabbles, except they're a tad long. Not like there won't potentially be any drabbles, but...gah, I'm rambling. Nothing unusual, though. I don't know how often I'll update, but hopefully it'll be more than once a month. -cringes- I know, that's not too often. But still. I'll try to be prompt. -prays to Avatar muse-

A/N the second: Concerning this particular fic, it is WAY too much fun to make Aang uncomfortable. It ought to be illegal, that's how much fun it is. But it's legal, I swear! Look at the disclaimer!!! -laughs-

A/N the third: This got a brief edit by the advice of **J Luc Pitard**, which none of you will probably notice, but it's there!!!

**Hair**

The air was hot and sultry; everything was crafted of metal and in hues of red and black; and the enemy literally surrounded them on all sides. Aang slouched in a corner of their temporary home, scratching under the headband he had tied tightly over his arrow. With a grunt of discontentment, he pulled it off and wiped the sweat away, tugging all the while at the high, close collar of his disguise.

His fingers found their way to his hairline, and he pulled dispiritedly at the short black strands.

He hated his hair.

It wasn't just because he was forced to grow it in the Fire Nation or that it was a constant reminder that he was in danger every millisecond—which he didn't need to be reminded of. It was because Air Nomads, at least the males, did not grow out their hair for tradition's sake. He already felt separated from his people, and this stuff on his skull only made him think that they were all dead and that he was the last one alive and that he was hardly even a proper Air Nomad anymore. He looked like some Fire Nation refugee, and at the moment, for a time, it seemed that the Airbenders _were_ all gone.

These were depressing musings. His hair depressed him, and he hated it for that.

He heard light footsteps, and he glanced up, even though he already knew whom they belonged to. He had memorized everything about her long ago, and as he looked at her, he felt more heat rising to his already warm face.

If he found the Fire Nation's weather nasty, his Water Tribe friends found it nothing short of unbearable. Whenever they managed to find a safe place—such as this house—both Sokka and Katara would shrug out of their disguises and traipse around the place in their underclothes and mutter bitterly under their breath about the heat.

He stared fixedly at the floor between his legs as she slouched against the wall next to him, but even so he could see her easily in his peripheral vision, clothed in white wraps that no longer seemed as innocent or modest as they had in the past. She stretched her legs out, her thigh pressed against his, and he renewed his staring contest with the floorboards, the conditions almost more than his thirteen-year-old mind could take.

"Spirits, I hate this heat," she grumbled, flicking a drop of sweat from the tip of her nose. "How're you taking it?"

"Oh, you know," he replied vaguely, trying desperately to think of something that would not give his hormones a field day.

But then her hand was on his forehead, and he couldn't think at all. "You're so hot," she declared, a hint of concern creeping into her weary tone. "Here, this should help." Her hand retreated only to return with a glove of water, and even though the water was tepid, it still felt amazingly refreshing to his fevered skin.

"Thank you," he managed to say, although he knew the heat in his face wasn't all due to the weather.

"No trouble," she said with a slight smile, bending the water back into its pouch at her side. She remained silent for some time, and she fidgeted before she spoke again. "Hey, Aang…"

"Mm?" he hummed in acknowledgment, looking at her. Were her eyes bluer, or was it just a trick of all the contrasting reds everywhere? He gave himself a mental shake.

"Have you…have you ever wanted to do something but because of certain…circumstances, I suppose, been unable to do it?" she asked hesitantly, but she did not look away from him.

"You have no idea," he murmured before he could catch himself, and he blushed furiously at his wandering thoughts. He strove to compose himself. "So…uh…what do you want to do?"

How could she look so calm? She merely sat there, observing him for a long moment with a slight smile curling her lips, before her hand rose to his face again, her fingertips lightly making contact with his cheek. His eyelids slid heavily shut and his heart started pounding furiously. Any second now, she was going to…

Her fingers trailed up his cheek, passing over his temple and into his hair. Her nails scraped slightly at his scalp, and Aang would never have guessed that such a simple gesture could feel so good. Twisting the black fluff around her fingers, she traced around his ear to the base of his skull and back up to the crown of his head, and his breath hitched somewhere in his throat, the contact somehow more intimate than he would have ever imagined. With her palm flat, she pushed her hand back, sliding her fingers through his hair.

He somehow managed to open his eyes, and he saw that she was watching her hand move with an infuriatingly calm, almost curious expression on her face. Her thumb traced the tip of his arrow, and then she withdrew her hand and nodded.

"Yes, you have very nice hair," she said, and with that, she rose to her feet.

Aang blinked, utterly bewildered. "But—what? I thought—I thought you were going to kiss me!" he blurted, realizing the weight of those words only after they had gleefully escaped his mouth.

To his further bewilderment, she smiled and said, "Not today, Aang. I just wanted to run my fingers through your hair before you shaved it off again."

He watched her walk away, completely stunned. Had she just implied that sometime in the near future she would…? And today she had…what? He pressed a hand to his suddenly aching forehead, and with the beginnings of a smirk, he realized one thing:

He didn't hate his hair.

In fact, he rather liked it.

_Fin_


	3. Just Perfect

Disclaimer: Alright, no Webster's definitions or "Finding Neverland" scripts for me.

A/N: Yes, this has been re-editted (again...). I do hope it makes more sense now. It's a lot closer to my original intent, and I think it worked best to eliminate Aang entirely. So this is a Katara fic, not a Kataang one. And just so you know, I still spit in the general direction of Katara-haters. Patooie. Read, hopefully enjoy it more now, and review!! And if you've already reviewed but feel like commenting on the editted version, hey, drop me a PM.

**Just Perfect**

* * *

_just (jŭst) adj. Only: __**merely**_

_perfect (pŭr'fikt) adj. Being in a state of undiminished or highest excellence: __**flawless**_

* * *

"_**Just**__?...What a horrible candle-snuffing word. That's like saying, 'He can't climb that mountain, he's __**just**__ a man' or, 'That's not a diamond, it's __**just**__ a rock'. __**Just**__." _

—_Johnny Depp as J. M. Barrie in "Finding Neverland"_

* * *

She was a lot of things, she knew. Sister, daughter, friend, companion, teacher, student, enemy, lover, healer, fighter, legend. Cold, warm, angry, empathetic, trusting, suspicious, judgmental, forgiving, cruel, kind. She was a jumble of contradictions, a thousand facets composing every side of her person, and she was certain that she had managed to feel every emotion and assume every role at one time or another. 

She was painfully human, artfully flawed. She knew her boundaries but that did not stop her from pushing them. She was strong and she was weak. There were many people she had saved and many she had not. Her mother. Jet. Others without names or faces that hurt almost as much. She was both a savior and a failure, one who embraced her praises and lingered over her regrets.

She recognized the blacks and whites but always found herself dealing with the murky grays. She had once believed in absolutes in a childish, naïve, idealistic fashion. The Fire Nation was evil…except that was not true, she had discovered. Iroh was not evil, and neither was Zuko, as misguided as the scarred prince had been. Nothing was simple, and neither was she. She was as gray and murky as the rest of the world.

And so it hurt when Sokka flippantly remarked that she was _just perfect_.

And then Toph agreed, laughingly adding that she _was_ the Sugar Queen, after all. Perfection (and Sweetness, if Toph may say so herself) was Katara's middle name, right between Sugar and Queen.

She forced a smile and laughed along with them.

But it bothered her, being reduced to that simplistic phrase, to those two terms.

Did they not realize that she was so much more than _just_? So much less than _perfect_?

To them, she was merely flawless, nothing more and nothing less. It had never occurred to her before that it would hurt so badly to be considered perfect.

Just…

…perfect.

_Fin_


	4. Because

A/N: I seem to be on an updating warpath. I warn you, this will likely die very soon, so I suppose enjoy the happy-frequent-updating while you can!! Sadly, you get another non-fluffy story. And no, the random unknown guy is not necessarily Zuko. Why does it always have to be Zuko? Geez, it could be anybody!! Even Jet (although I suppose he's dead...well, here's to hoping it's him!). -ducks all the tomatoes thrown by the Kataangers reading this story- Anyway, enjoy the Kataangst (Katara-Aang-angst...ha ha, fun word!) and review!!

**Because**

It had been a simple enough question, he decided. Nothing more than one syllable, one word, one inflection of his voice. Three little letters, one question mark.

Why?

She had given a simple enough answer, he admitted. Ludicrously short, two unsatisfying syllables, one heartbreaking word. How many letters? Count them—seven—and a very final period.

Because.

It was amazing that that had been the extent of the conversation. There had been no follow-up questions, no long-winded explanations, no anything at all. He had asked; she had answered; and she had left.

Simple.

Hardly.

In all his life, he had never asked a deeper, more agonizing question. He had never before desired such a lengthy, well-argued reply. Perhaps even an apology, an admission of a mistake, a now-forbidden confession. But he had received none of that, nothing but that _because_.

Why?

_did you choose him over me? did you marry him and not me? do you love him and not me?_

Because.

_that is how I felt. that is how I feel. it was my choice to make in the end, and I will not apologize._

All those words left unspoken. But they had hung in the air anyway, as loud as if their voices had articulated them.

And Aang realized in the end that he should not have expected any more than that.

For in the end, the only word that can follow _why_ is _because_.

_Fin_


	5. Curtains

A/N: Gah, still no more fluff!! I really hope you people don't hate me. Although this isn't completely bereft of romance...sorta... I don't know what's scarier: how often these one-shots are popping into my head or how depressing they're getting. I'll try, I swear, to write something happy soon. Really. I will try. And yes, the style in this piece is a bit odd, but hopefully it all makes sense. And God, yes, they're OLDER in this fic, even in most of the flashbacks! Somewhere in their twenties, I would guess. Read, enjoy, and review!!

**Curtains**

There used to be curtains…

of cloud that drifted across the moon and shrouded the earth in black,

of gauzy cloth pulled across the windows to block out the light and the rain,

of heavy fabric hung around the bed to keep out the drafts,

of beautiful dark hair that fell around his face and tickled his neck

_she leaned into him and captured his lips in a slow and searing kiss, and his fingers traced the angle of her shoulder blade before gliding down her back and settling at the curve of her waist_

…but no more.

He thought it strange that he had always believed the curtains had kept him warm. He had assumed that to be their purpose, to retain the heat of the day and the body. How wrong he had been.

But how could he have known that it had all been her? How could he have known that this girl-turned-woman who hailed from a land of snow and glaciers brought the warmth he so cherished, so missed? How could eyes as blue as ice have kept him warmer than any firebending?

He should have known, he admonished himself. He had been encased in an iceberg and condemned to the arctic depths for a century, but as soon as he had opened his eyes and seen her concerned face, he had felt warmth blossoming in his chest, in his very center.

_his eyes groggily opened, as if he couldn't quite remember how to lift the heavy lids. Reality swam in a blurry haze, nothing but blobs of light and color, none of them identifiable. He blinked, and the world came into gradual focus, clarifying into clear shapes and stark angles and too-bright sunlight reflecting off ice. His skin tingled in the cold, and he shivered, trying desperately to orientate himself._

_His gaze finally locked on a pair of eyes that were blue as the sky, the ice, the ocean, her coat. And a strange feeling settled in his heart as she smiled at him, and he was perplexed. He was half-frozen, and yet he felt…warm. A warmth he had never felt before and (he knew even then) that he would never feel again in any other life, no matter how long or hard future Avatars searched._

_And he was happy_

Why was it so cold? He shivered in the harsh wind that whipped off the mountaintops and pulled his pitiful monk's garb closer, even though he knew the gesture would not help. He had hidden away from the world behind layers of curtains for days and days, but the wind had always found him and chilled him to the soul, regardless of blankets or breaths of fire. He couldn't escape it.

There was no point to curtains, anyway. They could not keep out the memories.

_"Katara!" he yelled, and he leapt towards her crumpling figure, quickened by his airbending. He caught her before she struck the floor, and the ache in his heart plummeted like lead when he realized he was already too late._

_The warmth faded too rapidly from her skin, and the light had already gone from her eyes, leaving them as empty and cold as the ice they resembled_

He knew his eyes had dimmed as well that day as if he had drawn a curtain across gray irises and left them windswept and bare.

Cold. He bowed his head against the breeze and waited for an end decades away. The Avatar may reincarnate, but Aang would die, and he would see her again. He just had to wait.

_her skin was soft and smooth beneath his fingers, even her hands, which he had expected to be rougher from always waterbending. He pulled her hand closer, sliding his thumb over the lines of her palm, and she arched an eyebrow at him._

_"What is it, Aang?"_

_He simply grinned at her. "I suppose you really do use special seaweed lotion."_

_Her eyebrow only crept higher, and he shook his head, dismissing the observation. Looks like Katara had gotten her powerful bender and he had found love in the end, so perhaps Aunt Wu wasn't as cracked as she seemed_

If he closed his eyes and let himself drift, he could feel her cradled in his arms again, could feel her warmth that had nothing to do with body heat. And if he concentrated hard, he could remember a time when it had been just her and him and the curtains.

When he had been happy.

_Fin_


	6. Polar Bear Club

A/N: You know, the Polar Bear Club. Those weird guys who go jumping into the Arctic Ocean in nothing but speedos (obviously this can result in some rather nasty shocks to their systems). Sorry for THAT mental image! But in any event, I give you this fic, which is NOT sad and actually rather FLUFFY!! Yes, I did say fluffy! It's not fluffilicious or flufftastic or anything, but it sure isn't depressing. It might even be somewhat amusing. So read, enjoy, and review!!!

**Polar Bear Club**

"Are you completely stupid? Or are you just a total idiot?"

Aang groaned and puffed a bit of fire into his cupped hands. Of all the things he had expected to hear when he woke up, he had to admit that angry insults weren't amongst them. He squinted at her; the sun shone almost too brightly off the ice and snow all around.

"Calm down, Katara. I'm fine."

"Fine?!" she repeated incredulously, and he winced, aware that hadn't been the right thing to say. "You're not fine, Aang, you're _insane_! Swimming in the arctic, I mean, really! Do you ever think things through?"

He stiffened defensively and hunched deeper into her warm parka, puffing another flame. "Why're you getting on my case now? I've done things like this before, ya know. Back on Kyoshi, with the Unagi…"

Her eyes bulged in their sockets, and she jumped to her feet, bristling. "Aang, that was _years_ ago! You were _twelve_! You can't use that as a defense, not now that you're the fully realized Avatar!" She threw up her hands and tossed him a glare. "I have half a mind to waterbend you right back in, I'll let you know."

"You wouldn't," he muttered under his breath, his teeth still chattering. He knew it hadn't been one of his brightest ideas, but when you're in the South Pole and are seized by a sudden desire to go swimming, the options are rather limited. Perhaps he should have used his firebending first as a precaution, but he had told himself that he'd be fine, that it'd just be a quick dip and then he'd be out and dry and…apparently it hadn't happened that way.

"I wouldn't, would I?" she retorted sharply.

He frowned and glanced around the little ice-cave he was sheltering in; Katara had stormed out and was standing on the edge of the ice sheet, glaring almost vengefully at the surrounding ocean. Alright, so maybe he'd acted unfairly towards her. She had rescued him and bent the water off and given him her parka. Maybe he should go apologize.

Aang heaved himself to his feet and walked over to her, his steps somewhat timid. Even after all these years—this decade, he corrected—he still was uneasy approaching her…and her temper. He halted a pace or so away and cleared his throat.

"Katara…I'm sorry. For…well, for being an idiot, I suppose."

She grunted in acknowledgment, but she kept her face averted and her arms firmly crossed over her chest.

He sighed. "As the Avatar, I should've known better. I guess I'm still a kid at heart," he said musingly, and he stepped next to her and nudged her shoulder with his. "But that's why you love me."

She smiled at that and spared him a brief glance. "Yes, I suppose that is why," she agreed, and then, without any warning at all, a water whip snaked around his ankle and tugged him into the ocean. He slipped in with a yelp, caught completely off-guard, and surfaced as quickly as he could, sputtering.

"K-Katara, wh-what was th-that f-for?" he half-chattered, half-demanded as he clambered back onto the ice and bent the water from his clothes.

To his further bewilderment, she framed his face in her hands and gave him a slow, deep kiss. When she pulled back, she was smirking in a very triumphant way.

"That was for making me worry," she declared, and she began walking along the edge of the ice sheet, obviously done with his company.

"Then what was the kiss for?" he called after her, wondering vaguely if she wanted her parka back.

"That was for staying the boy I fell in love with," she replied, and with a cheery wave, continued on her way.

Aang thought about that for a moment and shrugged, not about to question her. He slowly followed, puffing fire into his hands again, and made a mental note to tell Sokka that the warrior had been right.

Women made no sense at all.

_Fin_


	7. Apprehensive

A/N: This is potentially my last update for awhile. I'm off to college, and God knows what will happen next. That, of course, was the inspiration for this piece, and I figured, hey, I bet Aang's got some issues with major life changes; I think I'll write a fanfic about being apprehensive! And voila: this story was born. So it has a point, if only for me. I wish I had a Katara, though (not literally, of course!). Well, I suppose that's that. Next thing I post will most likely be tainted with my creative-writing-major-ness. So let's hope the next story shows a vast improvement, right? Ha ha. Ah, since I'm being somewhat emotional, I love all you people who read and review and keep me going. It's nice to have my stuff appreciated. Now read and enjoy and review!! ;D

**Apprehensive**

Appa had always been comfortable before: a suitable pillow when night fell, a reminder of good days long gone, a friend and constant companion. But now, on this night, Aang found no comfort in his bison's thick fur or warm presence. He lay as he had laid for the past several hours, staring up at a sky that seemed too high above, too far away, and let time pass without a fight.

He wanted to fight it. He wanted to freeze the night at this very second and let it slide into an eternity, never breaking into dawn. But even with all his powers, all his training, he could not stop time.

An unpleasant, tight sensation had settled behind his sternum, and it seemed like the slightest of weights on his lungs, only just inhibiting his breaths. He knew what it was—he had felt like this before. It was almost like fear but subtler, somehow lighter, and he easily identified that he was apprehensive.

He could picture Toph's reaction to that feeling.

_Of course you're apprehensive, Twinkle Toes! Tomorrow's the big, butt-kicking day! And if you use any earthbending, you better do it right 'cause I'm not gonna be embarrassed by my airhead of a student._

Sokka's, even, wasn't that hard.

_It's the night before a battle. I s'pose it's a natural feeling, but we warriors get used to it._

But Katara? For some reason, he could not imagine her response. And so he did the only thing he could think to do: he airbent himself to the ground and crept quietly to her tent. It was pitched amongst the other Water Tribe soldiers, and if Momo hadn't been curled about one of the poles, he might have bypassed it entirely or spent countless minutes peering into each and every tent.

He paused, his fingers loosely clutching the blue material that was like the blue material on every other tent as far as he could see. She belonged here, with her people, her fellow warriors, her family. And he realized that of all the things he felt apprehensive about, the actual battle was not on the top of the list. Because for a short while, she had not been Katara of the Water Tribe. She had been Katara, the Avatar's waterbending teacher, the Avatar's companion, the Avatar's best friend. She had belonged on Appa's saddle and at his side, not somewhere on the desolate ice sheets.

And now, at this crux of time, her place and identity no longer seemed so certain.

He pushed aside the flap and stepped in, letting the cloth fall gently closed. The only sound here was her quiet breathing, and while it was a lulling, even rhythm, it only increased that tightness in his chest. Who knew how much longer he would be allowed to listen to such a sound. He shut his eyes, determined to commit it to memory, and when he opened them again, he was somewhat surprised to discover that she remained the same.

She lay still, stretched atop her sleeping bag in the sultry Fire Nation night, her warrior's dress twisted about her slumbering form. Her face was completely relaxed in slumber, and her dark hair was scattered across the pillow except for the two loops that framed her face; he smiled to himself, recalling that those two loops had been the first part of her hair he had ever seen. At least some things didn't change.

His smile melted into a frown at that thought, and he cleared his throat and said softly, "Katara?"

He hadn't thought she would be able to hear that, as he had deemed his voice nearly inaudible, but she inhaled sharply and blinked, glancing about the tent. Her shadowed blue eyes fell on him, and she pushed herself quickly to one elbow and shoved her hair from her face with one gloved hand.

"Aang?" she asked, her voice slightly hoarse from sleep. "Why're you here? Is it morning already?"

"No," he replied quickly and no louder than before. "I just…couldn't sleep," he explained, thinking as he said the words that they sounded rather lame.

She studied him for a moment, and he recognized her expression: it was her sympathetic look, the one she always wore whenever she listened to his problems. He wished that she wouldn't look at him that way now, not now. And the moment had passed, and she had sat up all the way and straightened her clothes.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

And there was the line she always used to initiate the conversations where he spilled his problems. It seemed terribly ironic that he wanted everything to stay the same and here he was wishing she would act differently. He should have expected this response; what had he been thinking?

"I don't know," he replied, shifting his weight to his other foot.

"Do you want to sit?" she asked, and he suddenly remembered he was still standing by the flap.

"Yeah, I suppose so," he agreed, and he walked over to her and sat down more heavily than he had intended. He draped his arms loosely about his knees and stared beyond the ground between his feet.

He could feel her gaze, and he predicted what she would say before her mouth even formed the words. "Is this about tomorrow, Aang?"

He shrugged one shoulder, still not looking at her. "I guess it is, but not for the reasons you might think. I mean, yes, I am nervous about the battle, but I'm…apprehensive about something else."

She sat patiently, awaiting his explanation, but when he failed to supply one, she prompted, "And what would that be?"

He absently traced the arrow tattoo on the back of one hand with his other forefinger, his expression pensive. "Tell me that at the end of the day tomorrow, you and Sokka and Toph and I will load up Appa's saddle and fly away from here like we always do. Tell me that nothing will change."

She frowned with both her lips and her eyes, and she laid a hand on his arm; he didn't like the armor plates that covered the back or the indigo glove that swallowed her fingers to the second knuckle. He wanted the gauntlet to go away because the Katara who had rescued him from the iceberg had not worn gauntlets. And he wanted her to braid her stupid (beautiful) hair and sew sleeves onto that outfit of hers because all he could see anymore was the differences, how she had changed from that girl so long ago.

"I can't tell you that, Aang," she whispered, sounding apologetic.

"Then lie," he snapped harshly. "I don't care if you don't believe it or if it isn't true, just _tell me_."

She sighed softly and held his hands in her own, and he absently noticed that her fingertips felt the same. "I know that you've dealt with some horrible changes in your life: finding out you were the Avatar, finding out that you had been trapped in ice for a century and that the entire world was at war. So I can understand why you're resisting as much as you are, I really can. But change is a part of life, and not all of it is necessarily bad."

"Not all of it is necessarily good, either," he grumbled, and he removed his hands from her grasp.

Her brow furrowed at his gesture, and she said in a low, controlled tone, "_You_ came to _me_, Aang. If you didn't want to talk to me or listen to me, I don't know why you bothered."

He finally looked at her, and he found himself wishing that her eyes would never change, that they would always remain that contradictory mix of warmth and icy blue. The thought brought a slight smile to his face; of course her eyes would never change.

"I don't know myself, Katara," he admitted, the smile already gone. "Maybe I just wanted to visit you in the middle of the night because I knew this would be my last chance. Whatever happens tomorrow, I know nothing will stay like it's been. Even if we both survive, I won't be able to wake up and talk to you whenever I want. Maybe that's why," he repeated, half to himself.

"Honestly, Aang, is that what you're worried about? That I'll return home and leave you all by yourself? Did you seriously think that I could go back to the South Pole and do Sokka's laundry and make seal jerky again? I couldn't go back there," she said firmly. "My presence is one thing that won't change, I promise."

"Everything else will, though," he said stubbornly, grimly. "And that's only if we're both alive this time tomorrow."

She framed his face in her hands, forcing him to look at her. "_We'll be okay_," she declared, emphasizing each word.

"You don't believe that," he muttered, dropping his gaze.

Her fingers loosened on his cheeks, and she let out an exhale that could have been a laugh. "You told me to lie to you, remember?" she remarked gently.

He nodded once, and he raised a hand to cover one of hers, holding it to his cheek. "I thought it would make me feel better," he murmured, memorizing her touch. "But I feel as apprehensive as I did when I came here. Nothing's changed."

"I thought that was what you wanted," she replied, a hint of teasing in her tone.

"It is," he acknowledged, and he lowered her hand from his face. "But I never seem to get what I want."

There was a long silence, and she finally said, "You need to get some rest. I'd say tomorrow is a big day, but that seems like the worst understatement ever."

He glanced up at her, and he thought that perhaps, given enough time, he could become used to the way her hair fell loosely about her face and maybe even like it more than her braid. "I probably should," he agreed, but the only movement he made was to drop his gaze once more.

"Do you want to stay here?" she asked quietly, but something in her tone suggested it was more a statement than a question.

"If you don't mind," he replied, but she was already lying down again, so he stretched out beside her, now staring up at the ceiling instead of the sky. He watched her from the corner of his eye as she curled up on her side, and the tight feeling was somewhat relieved as she slid her hand into his and squeezed.

Many minutes had passed, and he wondered if she had fallen asleep when he whispered, "Katara?"

"Yes, Aang?" she replied, her voice hushed and sleepy.

"Don't let go," he said almost pleadingly.

A faint smile curled her lips. "Never."

As he lay beside her, her hand held tightly in his, he let his eyes slide shut and drifted to sleep, lulled by her quiet breathing. And right before he did, he thought that even though everything would change, perhaps she would be right.

Perhaps they would all be okay.

_Fin_


	8. Deja Vu

A/N: Why, hello. After all this time, I wish I had something better to offer you than this. -sigh- Oh, well. College has stolen all my good creativity, the bastard institution!! Anyway, DARK!fic warning. incredibly!violent!vengeful!Katara ahead, and it's not too pretty. What is my issue? The fluff has left me. Sorry this is such total bloody crap, but maybe you'll like it and review anyway. It's possible, right?

**Déjà Vu**

"AANG!"

His named ripped from her throat and echoed hauntingly in the suddenly silent chamber. The seconds lengthened, and for too long she was staring at his writhing, airborne form, at the reopened scar on his back. The seconds slid by slowly, slowly, and then she was watching him fall, no, _plummet_ towards the stone floor and _she was not moving_.

Her horrified mind finally began processing, and she splashed water onto the floor, freezing it before it struck the tiles. She leapt onto the ice-chunk and rode it at blazing speed across the room, but she was _too far away_ and he was falling _too fast_…

And suddenly she was in the green-tinted catacombs again, and Aang was dropping from the sky, and Azula was smirking with her smoking fingers extended, and Zuko was staring in shock and astonishment, and tears were spilling down her cheeks.

But in the catacombs she had caught him, had halted his lethal descent.

His body made a horrible, sickening _crunch_ upon impact, ricocheting up before landing sprawled and limp and lifeless.

She stumbled off her ice-sled, her balance lost. Tears burned her eyes.

"No…" she breathed, crumpling to her hands and knees, her head bowing. She pounded her fists against the stone tiles. "No," she repeated over and over, as if by chanting it long enough it would somehow change reality.

Red haze tinged the edges of her blurry vision, and her teeth bared bestially as she raised her eyes to the still-standing Fire Lord.

"NO!" she roared, and all conscious thought fell away as surely as if she'd been knocked out. All she could focus on was Ozai, who was swiftly losing definition because of that overwhelming red haze. The ice-sled was beneath her boots once more, and in a blur of blue fury, she raced toward the battered and weakened Fire Lord.

He had only just turned his head from Aang's unmoving body, unaware of her approach. She jumped off the ice and bent it into a rough spear and smashed it directly into Ozai's chest. He staggered backward from the force of the blow, and she rammed into him, knocking him flat. The icicle extended upwards like some kind of macabre banner, and the Fire Lord coughed up blood, his eyes wide and shiny in pain.

Teeth still bared in a snarl, Katara gripped the icicle and twisted mercilessly.

Ozai gave a garbled half-scream before his eyes abruptly stilled, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth.

Red obscured everything, and she jerked the icicle from his body and gored him repeatedly. His blood flecked her clothing, but she did not even flinch, only stabbing again and again and again. Her breath came in ragged gasps between gritted teeth, her jaw set so hard it began to ache.

The next thing she knew something hard collided with her and sent her flying; she landed roughly on the floor, striking her head. Her vision swam nauseatingly.

"Snap out of it!" someone was yelling, and it sounded a little like Toph. Her ears were ringing so badly she couldn't quite tell.

"He's dead already! Dead!" the person continued. "Get a _grip!_" A fist cracked against her jaw.

Definitely Toph.

The red finally dissipated, and Katara blinked, one hand cradling her rapidly-bruising face. Toph had her pinned, one clenched hand drawn back to strike her again. Sokka stood a few steps away, Aang's arm thrown around his shoulders; the young Avatar hung motionless in his grasp.

Sokka was staring at her as if he'd never seen her before in his life. "What the hell was that?" he demanded, although a quiver of fear entered his angry tone.

…She bent the waterfall into a rising spiral and bore Aang up and away from the catacombs and the Dai Li and Zuko and Azula; he was going to be okay, she promised herself. She had the oasis water, and he would be okay. He would be healed, and they would be together, and everything would be okay…

"Déjà vu," she murmured, and her ice-blue eyes rolled up into her head.

_Fin_


End file.
